Flanked Read online

  “No. We’ll have to make sure we don’t travel during the brightest parts of the day, even if the weather’s nice like today.”

  Devin shuddered and felt along the ground until he reached Joe’s leg. He laid down on his side, resting his head on Joe’s thigh. “It’s cold as hell today.”

  True, despite the oxymoron. Only once or twice a winter did the temperature dip this low, at least at home. They’d had a cold snap in Austin about a month ago where the temperature had even dropped below freezing for a couple of hours. The farther north they traveled, though, the more likely they’d encounter cooler temperatures. The more moderate climate was one of the reasons the masses had migrated northward, after all. For now, they’d all be fine. Last night hadn’t been that cold. By the time noon rolled around, Joe and Devin would be shrugging out of their jackets.

  Joe dropped his hand to Devin’s shoulder and rubbed at the muscle. It was easy to mark the spot where Devin’s deltoid stopped and the muscles of his arm started. Both of Joe’s shoulders could have fit inside one of Devin’s. A glimmer of heat pooled in Joe’s belly. The reaction had to be some holdover from caveman days where a powerful man increased the odds of survival for his entire family. Joe pressed his thumb into the muscle and pulled Devin’s shoulder back with his fingers.

  Devin groaned. “I know what you’re doing.”

  Joe smiled and did it again. “What’s that?”

  “Plying me with good-feeling muscle rubbing so I think you’re helping, but all you really want is to grope me.”

  “You carried the kids’ pack all last night. That thing was heavy. You have to be aching. I want to make it feel better.”

  Devin groaned again and rolled over onto his stomach. Joe took that as permission and dug into the firm muscles of Devin’s neck and back. He liked the rhythm of it, the push and pull, having something to do with his hands. He liked making Devin feel good.

  When Joe hit a spot so tight he felt like he was rolling a rock under Devin’s skin, Devin said, “Oh, God, I love you.”

  Joe’s hand froze.

  Devin lay still and quiet, his breath overheating Joe’s kneecap, then he pushed Joe’s hand off his body.

  Joe hung his head. “Get some rest.”

  ***

  Flix startled awake to the most gorgeous sight that had ever met his eyes. Joe’s face, all serious brown eyes and high cheekbones and sultry lips, loomed over him.

  “Flix, hey buddy.” Joe smiled, and Flix smiled back. “I keep starting to doze off. Can you —”

  “I’ll keep you company.” Flix tried to sit up but got yanked back by Marcus’s heavy weight beside him in the sleeping bag. Joe had put an anesthetic cream on his back last night, so the impact with the ground was dulled. Thank God. He’d been near tears almost constantly since Boggs had stroked that bladed glove down his back; the sharp throb of it had been worse than any physical pain he’d ever experienced. Now he felt only a low hum of discomfort. Joe had been wonderful, helping him, and now they were going to sit up together to keep watch.

  “Actually, I need to get some rest,” Joe said.

  Flix clamped his hand over his mouth so he didn’t blurt out, “I’ll sleep with you!” He took a few deep breaths and let go.

  Joe stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

  “I mean, um, how can I help you?”

  “The sun’s going to set in an hour or two. Can you and Marcus keep watch? I’d ask Devin, but he could probably use as much time as possible with his eyes closed, let his vision clear.”

  Disappointment streaked through Flix, but he set it aside. Joe was asking for his help. He could show him he was capable. He eyed the two long guns propped against the concrete wall of the underpass. “Sure. Can I have a weapon?”

  Flix expected Joe to say no, but instead, Joe sidled up to Devin’s prone form and straddled his thigh. Even though Flix wanted the guy, he had to admit it was severely sexy to watch him on top of Devin. Joe withdrew a long, thick knife from a holster strapped to Devin’s thigh.

  “Here. You can hold this, but be careful. Oh, and wear these.” Joe pulled a pair of vision shields out of his pocket. “Remember, Boggs will be looking for us in some way. Wake me if you see or hear anything. At the very least, get me up when the sun sets.”

  Flix unzipped himself from the sleeping bag and took the knife. Joe laid on his back next to Devin and closed his eyes. Devin didn’t wake, but he scuttled closer to Joe, laid his head on Joe’s chest, and threw his arm and leg over Joe’s body. The intimacy made Flix ache.

  As the only truly gay boy among the A runners at Flights of Fantasy, Flix had contented himself to pick out the most amazing guy there to fawn over, knowing it would never happen. Then Devin, that slab of brainless beefcake, came along, and Flix wasn’t the only gay boy anymore. Except, shock of shocks, Devin won the grand prize, the unattainable, the gorgeous and smart and dazzlingly sexy Joe. And Flix was left knowing that Joe had been perfectly attainable after all, just interested in someone else. Kind of made a guy bitter.

  He shook his head and roused Marcus from their sleeping bag.

  Marcus was fifteen minutes younger, and Flix had lorded it over him their entire lives. Nothing had come up yet that he couldn’t cajole Marcus into. Even now, when Marcus glared up at him and moaned about just a bit more sleep, he was already crawling out of the sleeping bag.

  When Marcus got to his feet, Flix handed him the vision shields. “Sit with me while I keep watch?”

  “Ooh, can I hold it?” Marcus gestured toward the knife in Flix’s hand.

  No way. Flix told Marcus as much.

  Marcus grumbled but didn’t argue.

  They settled in against the hard-packed ground and silently watched the sun creep toward the horizon. Life was easy, being with Marcus, and Flix hadn’t wanted that to change. Marcus was all he had, and Flix would have stayed at Flights of Fantasy forever if Marcus had refused to leave. Thank God, after the initial shock had worn off, his brother had agreed to come. What they were getting themselves into, neither’d had any idea. Flix squirmed. Whatever came their way, it couldn’t be worse than what Boggs would do to him.

  Flix scanned the endless nothing that stretched out on either side of the overpass. Dead trees. Dead grass. Dirt. No buildings, no homes. No life. He’d never been outside the city, never even realized parts of the world could look like this. He loved maps, so he knew there were empty spaces, but he’d always figured they were like Austin, cities that stretched for miles, no matter what the map showed.

  “Feeling okay?” Marcus asked.

  Flix didn’t want to talk about the burns. “I’m fine.”

  Marcus nudged Flix’s shoulder. “You’re being broody, hermano.”

  “Thinking.”

  “Brooding. Does this have to do with your fantasy boyfriend?”

  “Not everything has to do with him.”

  “Ha.” Marcus raised his eyebrows. “With you it does. I’m thirsty.”

  Flix wiggled his fingers toward Joe’s backpack. “Get some water out of there.”

  Marcus stood and dusted himself off. He took a long drink from the water jug, then handed it to Flix, who took a drink of his own. Marcus was on his way to put it back when he stopped at Peter’s sleeping bag.

  “Hey, Flix. Watch.” Marcus took a sip and held the water in his mouth. Then he pursed his lips and let the water trickle out. It dripped onto one of Peter’s pale cheeks.

  Flix stifled a laugh. “You are so immature.”

  Marcus dribbled a bit more onto Peter’s face. One drop went straight up his nose. Peter choked and flailed, then sat up, coughing and spluttering. Marcus dropped a mouthful into Peter’s hair.

  Marcus needed to stop. Wasted water hurt them all, and irritating Peter wasn’t very nice, even though Marcus wasn’t really doing it to be mean. Flix kept laughing, though.

  “Knock it off, pinkypenis!” Peter stood unsteadily and swiped at Marcus, who jumped out of reach.

&
nbsp; “Keep your voice down, Petey,” Flix hissed. Calling him “Petey” seemed to annoy him even more than blanco or whitey or white-ass, all of which Flix had tried two or three times to make sure.

  “Shut up, brown” — Peter seemed to be casting about for something really awful — “homo boy.”

  Marcus spat water straight into Peter’s ear.

  Peter lunged and tackled him. He landed a couple feeble blows before Marcus rolled them over and straddled Peter’s hips.

  Flix flung down the knife and scrambled toward them. He reached them just in time to grab Marcus’s cocked fist. If Marcus hit skinny little Peter, he’d break him. Peter probably hadn’t gotten in many fights in that fancy northern bubble he’d lived in. Marcus, on the other hand, could take people down.

  “Let it go.” Flix dragged Marcus off Peter. As he stepped backward, his foot slipped on mushy ground. He inhaled sharply and met Marcus’s eyes. “Oh, no.”

  Marcus dove for the overturned water jug at Flix’s feet. Too late. Almost every drop had spilled. Peter crowded around the container, his eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?”

  Flix spun toward the voice. Marcus and Peter stood on either side of him. Marcus tucked the water jug behind his back. The smooth silicone of it bumped Flix’s hand.

  He forced himself to breathe enough to speak. “Hey, Devin. Morning. Or, evening. Whatever. How are your eyes?”

  Devin sat up. His hands trailed over his face and through his messy hair. When he dropped them, he’d removed his vision shields and narrowed his eyes. “Blurry. And I repeat, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Marcus said. He turned to Flix and nodded fiercely. “Nothing, right?”

  “He can’t see you, Marc. But they’re going to find out.”

  “Find out what?” Devin tilted his head and staggered to his feet. Dios mio, he was immense. When they were small, Abuela Carmen had read them Beauty and the Beast. Devin was Beast-big.

  Flix sucked in a breath. He knew Marcus wasn’t lying because he was worried about Devin finding out what they’d done. Despite his imposing body and rough words, Devin was about as intimidating as a butterfly. Joe, on the other hand... Flix had seen Joe lose his temper once. He’d never forget it. “On accident, the water spilled.”

  “It’s my fault,” Marcus said.

  Flix shook his head. “Joe trusted me. It’s my fault.”

  Devin’s pale gold face lost all color. “It’s all gone? What the fuck happened?”

  No one answered him.

  He gently kicked sideways until he found Joe’s body and gave it a nudge. “Wake up, Joe.”

  Joe fidgeted and stretched. He patted the space where Devin had been, then faster than Flix had ever seen a human move, Joe leaped to his feet, a knife in hand, eyes darting everywhere.

  Devin reached out and grabbed Joe at the back of the neck. He turned Joe’s head toward Marcus, Peter, and Flix. “There.”

  Joe straightened and put his hands on his hips. “What’s going on, boys?”

  Flix steeled himself and pulled the jug from behind Marcus’s back. “The water spilled. I’m so sorry, Joesy.”

  A fly buzzed around Joe’s head. He caught it, let it go, and caught it again. When he spoke, his voice sounded like the filing boards Flights of Fantasy’s aesthetics department had used on Flix’s nails. “What happened?”

  “We were playing.” Flix tried to keep his voice from shaking. “It was an accident.”

  “Knife?”

  Crap! Flix jumped and ran to retrieve the knife from where he’d thrown it on the ground. He skidded to a halt and picked the thing up like he’d found a snake. He slid both sides of it over his pants to clean away the dust. A shudder rippled through him as he extended the knife, handle out, toward Joe, whose face remained expressionless.

  Joe released the fly, which buzzed away unharmed. He sank to his knees beside Devin and replaced the knife in the sheath, holding his hand between the weapon and Devin’s thigh. When the knife was seated, he rested his forehead against Devin and took deep breaths.

  “Look, we weren’t trying to cause problems.” Peter took a step forward, his little whiny baby voice grating on Flix’s nerves. “It really was an accident. Isn’t there a watering station before too long where we can —”

  Flix grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. Life in the north must be awfully cushy if water was abundant. “Shut up, Petey.”

  Joe kept his head pressed to Devin’s thigh and fixed everyone else in his gaze. “This isn’t a dome, Peter. It isn’t even New America. There’s no watering station.”

  An idea popped into Flix’s head. His maps. “Hey, what if I found us a source of water?” He scanned the underpass for their sack of stolen goods and found it lying open on the ground. As he headed for it, Joe stopped him with a hand on his shoulder — Flix only flinched a little — and directed him to a new, smaller pack made out of clothes. Flix pulled out a large Texas highways map and spread it open on the ground.

  “Marc, run up and tell me what the highway marker nearest us says.”

  “We’re north of Troy,” Joe said. “I saw the marker last night.”

  Flix followed the route they’d taken from Austin and found Troy. A lake sat off to the west, but it would take them an hour to walk there and an hour to walk back, maybe longer since Devin needed to be guided wherever they went. Could they afford to waste two hours getting no farther from Austin and Mr. Boggs? “Okay. There’s a lake to the west, but it’s pretty out of the way. We’d lose a couple of hours. If we can hold out for a bit, I see another smaller lake north of us. Maybe six or ten miles.”

  Joe leaned over Flix’s shoulder. He smelled like men should smell. “Will it have water? Lots of places have dried up.”

  “No telling. It’s pretty tiny.” Flix slumped. He’d thought it could work, but he understood Joe’s reluctance. So much about the world outside Austin was a mystery.

  “I read that rich people like to live on lakes,” Devin said. “Even if the lake is dry, we may still find water.”

  Joe nodded. “Plus, it’s rural. There may be wells.” He seemed to be talking himself into the idea. He murmured, “You think that’s what we should do?”

  Flix started to respond but stopped when he realized the question was meant only for Devin. Joe had his head tilted up to his giant lover like he and Devin were the only people in the world.

  Almost imperceptibly, Devin nodded.

  The invisible wall that had gone up around Joe and Devin dissolved. Joe said, “Everyone pack up. We leave now.”

  Flix folded away his map and began rolling up his sleeping bag. He’d follow Joe anywhere.

  ***

  Peter hobbled down a lane in some dumpdown town and tried not to let the prostitutes see him cry.

  They blamed him. Condemnation shone in their eyes. So not fair. He hadn’t meant to make Marcus spill the water, hadn’t known it would be hard to get more. Now they were stuck heading kilometers out of the way, into this scraped-together town with its shoddy, small ranch houses and dead grass everywhere.

  Peter walked next to Marcus and watched Flix sashay up to Joe and attempt to flirt. Flix’s fingers lightly brushed Mr. Fake-White’s arm.

  Disgusting. Peter averted his eyes.

  They passed a brick building where a tattered flag whipped in the stiff breeze. The flag reminded Peter of the New American flag, but this one had more little white stars and the maple leaf was missing. The stripes looked like they might be the same. He never would have imagined he’d miss saying Allegiance in school, or even going to school, for that matter, but he’d give just about anything to be there right now, sitting in Mrs. Dogbreath’s class, reciting the stupid Oath and listening to her drone on about the Articles of Incorporation with her grainy old lady’s traintone voice until his eyes drooped and he tuned her all the way out.

  Just about anything? He’d give it all. The only parts of his life that really mattered had alrea
dy been taken away.

  He tried to keep the memories out of his head during the day. Dad on the floor next to the bed, slick red blood spreading over Momma’s new carpet. Momma, her sleepdress torn, still alive, still fighting, until the big man in black did something to her neck and threw her to the ground. Limp. Lifeless.

  Peter’s throat tightened.

  He shoved at Marcus, hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough to tweak him off too much. He was rewarded with a rougher shove back.

  “Knock it off, jerko,” Marcus snapped. “You got us in enough trouble as it is.”

  “You spat on me!” Peter’s voice cracked, and he wasn’t sure if he should blame puberty or the sticky dryness of his mouth.

  Marcus’s blunt brown fingers clenched, and his voice dropped low. “You called my brother ugly things.”

  Peter lifted his chin. “I called him what he is.” If these streetwhores wanted to pretend being plastic — a homosexual — was fine, that was their business, but Peter wasn’t buying in to their depravity. “The law states —”

  Flix spun around. “Fuck your laws. And shut up, both of you. You’re wasting hydration.”

  “Dumb fucks,” the big white guy, Devin, added.

  Fake-White glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “Flix is right. Less talking, more walking.”

  End of argument. Peter had been dumped at this hellpit three days ago. But already, he had learned; what Joe said to do, everyone did.

  Peter remembered how his persecutor, that horrible businessman Boggs, had paraded him through the prostitutes’ hovel. The hot, dingy room stank, filled as it was with whores, almost all of them living in one room, right on top of each other. They’d crossed that space because Boggs was after Joe, and when they found him, Boggs acted like he had a personal interest in his fake-white whore that went beyond business.

  It was Devin, of course, not Mr. Fake-White, who had neutralized, at least for a little while, the threat Boggs posed. Still, though, it was Joe whom everyone listened to. And it was Joe who’d left Peter behind.

  Marcus scratched his armpit.

  “You’re all cavemen, descended from apes,” Peter mumbled.